


Memoirs of a Horcrux

by anonymoustimetraveler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bodyswap, Dark, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Horcruxes, Self-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Skips, Time Travel, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymoustimetraveler/pseuds/anonymoustimetraveler
Summary: I awoke in the body of an 11 year old Harry Potter in 1938 about to start school with Tom Riddle. As an adult armed with knowledge of what was to come, I thought I could change the future for the better. But being a horcrux complicated things, and when it came down to it, I chose survival.





	1. Changes

You can listen to this on Soundcloud at: <https://soundcloud.com/starsandheavyrain/sets/memoirs-of-a-horcrux-by>

# Chapter 1

The world I knew ceased to exist overnight. I went to bed in my American apartment as an adult woman and woke up to the cool morning air of some alleyway in London as a scrawny boy just over eighty years ago. 

At first I thought it was a dream, but that illusion was short lived. Everything was consistently old timey--the newspapers read the 31st of July, 1938, the technology was the stuff of museums, and the clothes looked like the movies set in the thirties. It was all too horribly _real._

This was earth shatteringly bizzare on its own, but the situation managed to get much weirder.

I saw my reflection and I appeared to be... Harry Potter? I didn’t look like Daniel Radcliffe, but I had all the distinctive features--messy black hair, green eyes, an underfed body, and the famous lightning bolt scar.

It’s a bit of an understatement to say the first day was passed in a bizarre, surreal haze. There were just so many things to wrap my head around. Not only had I time travelled, but I had ended up in the body of another temporally displaced person. How does that even happen?

I, of course, questioned my sanity.

It wasn’t until the Hogwarts letter came via a beautiful tawny owl with the name “Harry Potter” written in neat ink that I even considered accepting my new reality. I decided to go on as if I was sane, because what else could I do?

I’m not even sure why or how I got the letter. Neither me nor Harry belonged in this time. How had the school known to send it? But the letter had come, delivered to my lap while I was sitting at a park bench, that same evening I awoke.

I wrote back immediately, accepting. I requested a name change and explained that I had no money, but was already familiar with the magical world and did not need a guide. If allowed, I would keep Harry’s first name and alter his last. Picking somewhat arbitrarily, I settled on Snow.

The owl returned the next day with a sack of galleons and a note. Hogwarts had provided me with funds and accepted my name change. I was shocked at the simplicity of it.

That first night I slept in the same alleyway. It had a warm wall and to my surprise, no one bothered me. When I woke up shivering, early in the morning, I made my way to The Leaky Cauldron.

Diagon Alley was amazing. Magic was even more beautiful than I expected. And so I spent the whole day there, gawking at all of the things I had believed impossible in my muggle life.

My errands panned out in an eerily predictable manner. I had to ration my money, buying things second hand and I was given Harry’s wand--holly and phoenix feather. Ollivander did not say anything about it being a brother wand to another one recently sold. Had Tom Riddle not purchased his wand yet?

I remembered enough of Harry Potter to know that Tom Riddle would start his first year in 1938. So far, everything I’d seen of the magical world, pointed to the books being accurate. I’d also read my fair share of fan fiction, which had reinforced my knowledge of the time and magic. I only hoped that I remembered canon facts as opposed to fanon interpretations.

The month of August passed pretty fast. When I wasn’t caught in the surreal haze, I read the school books, some multiple times, having no difficulty grasping the material meant for eleven year old kids.

I risked casting magic. Hadn’t Hermione in book one said on the train that she had already tried out several spells and that they had worked for her? How could she have done that if the trace was in effect before school started? And so I practiced magic. To my relief, I received no letters from the ministry and I was able to make my life significantly more comfortable. I slept hidden in an abandoned building, cocooned by the heat of a warming charm on my new cloak.

I had some sleepless nights in which I thought of everything I had lost. My life, identity, home, and everyone I cared about didn’t exist yet. Was my grandma alive yet? When was she born again?

Being a boy was odd. I had never been the most feminine person, but I missed my body. Most of all, I missed being an adult. I wondered if I would be stuck here long enough to go through puberty again. And I did feel stuck. Stuck in a body I did not belong in and a time I did not want.

I missed my phone. It felt like missing a limb. I kept reaching into my pocket to check the time, but of course, my phone wasn’t there. And so I learned the tempus charm.

It was this excitement of now having magic that carried me through those darker moments. I threw myself into learning everything I could.

I told myself that I had a purpose here. I was an adult woman, armed with knowledge of the future. I thought I could make the world a better place.

The simplest thing would be to kill Tom Riddle while he was young and horcrux free. I wasn’t sure I could murder another human being, especially one so young, but if I could save countless lives by doing so, then I would find a way to make myself do it.

I would do it soon too. Who knew how being here worked? Was I stuck in the past for good or could I be pulled back at any moment? I searched for Wool’s Orphanage a couple times, but without the internet, I could not find it. It wasn't on the paper map I checked. Was it even in London? I couldn’t remember. I knew it wasn’t in Little Hangleton. I wandered around the streets of London for a bit until a I was stopped by a concerned parent asking if I was lost.

I gave up and vowed I’d do it when we got to Hogwarts. I would do it in the Room of Requirement, where I would request a spare wand and a place where his death would not be detected. I would use the severing charm instead of the killing curse in case I didn’t have enough intent to kill. Then I would exit through a door elsewhere in the castle and Tom Riddle’s body would disappear with the room.

~

On September 1st, I arrived at the train station an hour before it was set to depart. Very few people were there, so I wandered through the train, deciding to take it all in. It was nice, but not overtly magical.

About halfway through my exploration, I had a sudden headache come on, centered in the upper left part of my forehead. It soon dissipated as I kept walking.

It wasn’t until I made my way through that car on my return trip and it happened again, that I put it together. My _scar_ was hurting. As the pain peaked, I glanced into the nearby compartments.

In the one to my left, sat a young boy with pale skin and black hair. He was watching the platform outside the window and casually twirling a long, pale wand. Dark eyes met mine as he looked up.

Tom Riddle, the boy that would become the darkest wizard of all time was mere feet away and my _scar was hurting_. Several horrible things occured to me in rapid succession. Harry Potter was Voldemort’s horcrux. The pain in my scar was clearly linked to his younger self’s presence.

Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because he looked at me strangely. There was an awkward silence, and then I fled with a paltry excuse. These were the first words I ever said to Tom Riddle, and I can’t even remember them.

I was a _horcrux_. The thought circled through my head accompanied by pangs of panic like a beating drum.

Horcrux. Horcrux. Horcrux.

I found an empty compartment as far from him as I could. I felt disgusted, violated even.

Some older Hufflepuffs filtered in. I made polite small talk before pulling out “Hogwarts a History” and pretending to read while they caught up with each other. They were kind and all seemed to genuinely care for each other.

A pang of homesickness rushed through me, but I spent the entire several hour trip oscillating between numbness and horror.

I had a piece of Voldemort inside of me. My existence made him immortal. In order for Tom Riddle to die, I would have to be dead. I didn’t want to die.

But for those hours riding through the English and Scottish countrysides, I contemplated killing myself. I could take us both out. It wouldn’t even be that hard. I could build a bomb and detonate it in Tom Riddle’s presence. As long as I was closer to the bomb, I’d probably die first.

But… I wanted to live. Perhaps that made me selfish.

When we arrived, the first years were grouped together. I tried to be on the opposite side as Riddle, but I was still close enough for my scar to ache. He met my eyes once and I looked away, pretending to be shy.

My pain was relieved some as we boarded separate boats to ride to Hogwarts. The lake ride was, of course, spectacular, but I was too preoccupied to enjoy it.

It wasn’t until all of us first years were lined up that I finally made my decision. I would not kill him.

Instead, I thought I would prevent Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort and find a way to destroy the horcrux inside of me.

Oh, how naive I was.

 

A/N: I hope that by sharing my story, I can prevent disaster. It’s hard for me to tell this so publicly, but the more people that know the truth, the greater our chances. I will have to hide specific details of my identity because my past self exists now and I can not risk her (my?) death. I can only hope she reads this and learns from my mistakes. I no longer care if her doing so erases my timeline and existence. I might even want that to happen.

Please believe me. Magic is real and if events follow the same path they did, the world will soon be a bleak place for muggles and all magical beings.


	2. Visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Audio at: https://soundcloud.com/starsandheavyrain/memoirs-of-a-horcrux-chapter-2

I had read about the sorting ceremony in my rereads of the first book and countless times in various fan fictions, but that could not have prepared me for the real experience. The Great Hall, especially the enchanted ceiling, was jaw droppingly gorgeous and the singing hat was a thing of wonder. Everything was so great that for a moment, I could ignore the pain in my scar.

While the kids earlier in the alphabet were being called up, I pondered how I would go about preventing Voldemort. I could ask the hat to put me in Slytherin to get close to him like many of the time travelling fanfiction Harry’s did it.

But I decided against it for the practical purpose of my head hurting whenever he was near. How could I sleep in the same dorm with him if my scar burned all night?

That led to a tougher question. How could I get close to Tom Riddle, without being near him? Hanging around with the eleven year old sociopath would be hard enough without dealing with the equivalent of a bad headache everytime. No… I needed a plan.

Unfortunately, I had little time since my new last name was not that far back in the alphabet and the class size was not very large. Tom Riddle had already been sorted into Slytherin. Every time I saw something that matched canon, I was relieved. I really did know the future and that knowledge meant power.

“Snow, Harry” was called loudly into the hall by a professor who’s name I hadn’t caught.

The sorting hat fell over my head after I nervously sat on the stool. The success of everything could hinge on this moment, and I didn’t even know what house I wanted. How could I be sorted without having made that decision?

_I believe that is my job_ the hat said into my mind. _And, oh wow, what do we have here?_

I took a line from the real Harry Potter. _Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin._

As if in a bizarre parody of his original sorting the hat questioned this. Apparently I too had the qualities of a Slytherin and could be helped to greatness if placed there.

I had, of course, like all Harry Potter fans, pondered what house I would be in. I’d considered Slytherin, but hadn’t been entirely sure where I would be placed. So it was interesting to hear the hat pondering the question while laying bare my personality.

_A love of learning, that’s for sure, but that love is as much ambition as it is for knowledge’s sake. Definitely some kind heartedness and loyalty, but little value of fair play._

_I have extenuating circumstances!_ I defended.

_I can see that you do indeed have quite the… unusual scenario. But anytime something really matters to you, you’re willing to use whatever means you deem worth it. Are you sure about Slytherin?_

_Yes!_

_Then it’ll have to be...._ “RAVENCLAW!”

Given my love of reading, it wasn’t too surprising. And in retrospect, this was probably the best house I could have been placed in. If Tom Riddle had a second house, it would undeniably be Ravenclaw. So this would make approaching him easier… if I could either get over the pain or find another way to do that.

During dinner, I mostly kept quiet, only answering questions politely when asked. I told my fellow housemates that I was a muggleborn, whose adopted mom had just recently moved to London. I hoped that any cultural difference due to time or otherwise could be attributed to my foreign background. The kids seemed to believe the lie and I rightfully dreaded what would happen when an adult questioned my identity. While speaking, I choose my words carefully, trying to stick to the smaller words most children tended to use.

Towards the end of the meal, I caught Riddle eyeing me curiously. I smiled at him. He did not return the gesture, only looking for a moment longer before returning to his food.

My dorm mates were nice enough, although most were somewhat shy and awkward. The exception was Eric Bones, who had friendlily been trying to get to know everyone since the beginning of dinner.

After we’d been shown to our dorm, we continued to talk as we settled in. Atop many of the blue covered beds were piles of stuff to be put away.

We complained about the riddle required to get into our common room. Most of us hadn’t gotten it right away. The only other boy who was a similar size to my new Harry Potter body commented that he wasn’t sure if the hat had made the right decision for him. How could he be a Ravenclaw if he wasn’t smart enough to answer the riddle?

I told him in no uncertain terms that riddles were not a direct measure of intelligence and besides, Ravenclaw was more about learning than being clever. I told him to do his best to learn and try in his schooling. I think my actual words involved, “study hard in your classes.”

This began my reputation as the ‘mom’ of the dorm. No one suspected I wasn’t actually an eleven year old boy, of course, but they pegged me as the next closest thing. I certainly had more in common with their moms than them and on some level, they recognized that.

It was during the following discussion that I was hit with an intense spike of agony in my forehead. I stumbled, grabbing onto a post of a nearby bed and almost knocking over a pile of books.

“Are you alright?” someone asked. I took a deep breath as my scar pulsed. At first I was confused, quickly looking around the room. Riddle wasn’t there, so then, why was my scar hurting?

“I… uh… I’m fine,” I lied. My vision flashed to a room that was as green as this one was blue. I stumbled away from the bedpost, now recognizing the warning signs of what was to come. “Just, um… bathroom!”

I rushed to the nearby refuge and barely shut the door behind me before I couldn’t fight off the vision any longer and I was suddenly in a Slytherin dorm watching through Tom Riddle’s eyes.

A large well groomed boy with brown hair and a mocking sneer stood in front of Tom. The rest of his dorm mates were silently watching the exchange, a couple with grins on their face. Anger coursed through Tom, but it was shadowed by cold calculation as he eyed his audience.

“I am not, as you call it, a _mudblood_ . Do not presume yourself superior to _me_.”

The large boy whipped out his wand, pointing it at Tom. Tom smirked, seemingly unconcerned, but I could feel his fear. At this, his aggressor paused, a look of uncertainty crossing his face as his fingers tightened around his wand. “Of course I’m better than some no name mudblood.”

Tom’s self-assured smirk grew. Without touching his wand or speaking a word aloud, he willed the boy in front of him to _hurt_. Immediately, the kid fell to the ground with a shocked yell. Tom then pulled out his wand and cast a silencing spell.

He looked around at his audience, making eye contact with each. He was met with silent shock, awe, and terror. The large boy struggled against the obvious pain to sit up, still at his feet.

“Could a mere _mudblood_ accomplish such magic? No. I may be an orphan, but how could _I_ not be descended from greatness?” He paused to let his words sink in. “I suggest you remember this moment before you consider insulting me again.”

He released the spells on his former bully, who made a suppressed groan. Tom’s anger ebbed, turning into satisfaction as he observed the fear in the room and I was once again in Harry’s body, lying on the cold floor of a bathroom.

I felt a lot of emotions all at once, the most disturbing of which was Tom’s budding satisfaction. Feeling positive emotions at someone else’s pain was not something I was comfortable with. Though… I was also a little impressed at how effectively he headed off future bullying attempts.

But I could relate to the nameless Slytherin, on the ground in pain, helpless. Except he had it easier--his pain didn’t look as intense as mine (he’d been able to sit during it?).

I allowed myself a bit of a pity party then. It felt gross to have someone’s cruel emotions thrust upon me and it was terrifying that at any given moment, I could be thrust into incapable agony. Worst of all, I couldn’t help but think that my soul was tainted.

Tom Riddle, at the tender age of eleven, was already torturing and attempting to set himself above his fellow first years. His words to Dumbledore at Wool’s Orphanage echoed in my thoughts.

_I can make them hurt if I want to._

But perhaps I was being too harsh. He had been defending himself from a bully. He certainly wasn’t the first boy to result to violence. Then I wondered, was bullying just a nicer word for torture? In a way, it was, and I realized that somewhere in my aging, I had learned to take inflicting pain--mental or physical--less seriously when it was among kids. It was a sobering way to think.

To prevent him from becoming Lord Voldemort, he would need _a lot_ of interference. Was his behavior already set and if not, how much work would it take to influence him even a small amount? I had a feeling that acting sooner was the only way I had a chance of success.

But there was that pesky little problem of pain whenever I was near him.

Eric knocked on the bathroom door, asking if I was okay. After a moment, I exited and made up another lie to explain away my oddities. I told my roommates I had cluster headaches, which were overwhelmingly strong, episodic headaches that could come and go quickly.

My new life was lies upon lies.

I hardly slept that first night at Hogwarts. I had to change Tom Riddle, but in order to change him, I had to get close to him, which was complicated by my scar hurting every time I got near him. But something definitely had to be done and soon. I considered myself to have a decent pain tolerance, so maybe I could just push through it.

I briefly considered going to Dumbledore for help. Surely his help would be invaluable and helping save the world by helping a kid should be right up his alley. Then I remembered that he was already going to protect everyone from a dark wizard in 1945. He had (would) fight Grindelwald, defeating him only by a narrow margin after a very long battle. With the two of them being such a closely matched pair, I didn’t want to risk interfering in anything that could alter that outcome.

The butterfly effect was a precarious thing. Any interaction with Dumbledore had the potential to alter what he would do. That rule held in general, I supposed, but I couldn’t avoid everyone. I decided to avoid people that had a positive impact on history and otherwise live my life the best I could.

What other options did I have?

~

The next afternoon, my head of house called me in to ask about my name change and parents. Apparently, name changes were not standard and the only reason mine had gone through was because of an error caused by my very unusual record with no parents or guardians.

This turned into a bureaucratic nightmare that I won’t bore you with the details of. I basically claimed no knowledge of my parents and with a lot of effort, fabricated a guardian with the name ‘Lynn Snow’. I was met with some skepticism, but in the end, my story worked well enough that the matter was dropped.

~

A couple days later, I saw Tom Riddle sitting at a table in the library, taking notes as he read through a somewhat thin book. Several other books were stacked in a neat pile to his side. Deciding that, after the previous vision, I needed to get close to him sooner rather than later, I carried my own books over and sat across from him. My scar pulsed, but I ignored it, plastering a smile on my face.

He looked up, clearly suppressing annoyance at his univinted tablemate. Upon seeing it was the scrawny boy that ran from him on the train, he set down his quill.

“Hi, I’m Harry Snow,” I said.

“Tom Riddle,” he replied, looking both surprised and intrigued.

“Nice to meet you,” I said in the pleasantest voice I could manage through the pain.

He tilted his head, silently studying me.

“Sorry I bolted on the train. I just remembered that I’d left a book in a different compartment and I had to go get it.”

“Is that so?” he murmured.

“Uh, yeah. So what are you reading?”

He ignored the question, instead asking one of his own. “What I want to know, is how we can have such a simple introduction where every single thing you say is a lie.”

My mouth dropped open and he smirked. Well, fuck.

I had forgotten that even when he was living at the orphanage, he could discern when people were telling the truth. Even if he wasn’t quite a legilimens yet, this put a hell of a damper on my plan. Once again, I inelegantly fled.

I needed a new plan.

~

Classes were, for the most part, disappointingly boring. Magic classes were supposed to be, well, magical. But I had read ahead and educational material meant for children just wasn’t all that challenging for someone who had taken college courses.

History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts became my least favorite subjects. Ravenclaw shared them with Slytherin, making them effectively regular scheduled scar pain. I made an effort to sit as far from the Slytherins as possible, but the extra twenty or so feet only meant I felt less pain, not none. I didn’t care much about History of Magic, but I needed to become very proficient at DADA.

Tom Riddle noticed that I kept my distance. I would occasionally notice him watching me, but he allowed my avoidance, instead focusing his social efforts on his fellow Slytherins. He hadn’t yet taken over whatever hierarchy existed in that house, but he quickly earned respect, even among most of the second and third years.

I suppose that talking to a Ravenclaw mudblood wouldn’t have helped. I could tell he was minorly interested in me, but he must have assumed the truth behind my lies was something inane. He had no way of knowing how significant I was to his life.

In light of discovering the flaws of my ‘get close to the young Voldemort and change him’ plan, I instead focused on learning everything I could about the magic I thought would be useful. I researched occlumency, souls, DADA, and spells that would come in handy, like the invisibility charm. I hid most of my extracurricular studies, but was labeled as a studious, smart kid nonetheless.

The way I saw it at the time, I had two options--remove the horcrux and kill Riddle or become an advanced enough occlumens and manipulator to nudge him onto a less deadly path.

I searched for any books relating to soul magic and the dark arts, but Hogwarts didn’t have a whole lot of information on the topic. There were a couple books in the restricted section, which I successfully broke into a couple times, but they all said that the only way to remove a horcrux was through remorse. That wouldn’t do.

Learning occlumency turned out to be extremely difficult. No wonder the real Harry Potter had struggled with it and I didn’t even have anyone to practice with. The only way I was able to track my progress was when Tom’s emotional perspectives overroad whatever I was doing. I tried to fight off visions of his struggles against his fellow Slytherins. He didn’t always come out on top, but he was smart and patient, which he used to extract revenge. Sometimes, I saw him internally fume in public while keeping a tight rein on his temper. Luckily, my cluster headache excuse was accepted when I couldn’t fight off such visions.

I was often near the top of the class, just behind Riddle. Losing to a kid, no matter how prodigious, irked me, and I had to remind myself that grades weren’t a direct measure of competency. Our relative ranking usually came down to how often we could get a perfect score vs having a couple points deducted for unimportant, minor errors and I had more important things to worry about than perfect homework.

And so life went for our first year at Hogwarts. I studied, I learned, and I avoided Tom Riddle. At the end of the year, I was better able to block out the visions, but I still fell victim to the majority of them.


	3. Dueling

I arrived at my second year of Hogwarts with several smuggled in roosters and some weird mirrored glasses I had engineered over the summer. It was time to deal with the Chamber of Secrets. I hadn’t made any progress on the Tom Riddle problem, but I could sure as hell take out the basilisk.

In the middle of the first night back at school, I snuck into the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. I’d mostly gotten used to being in Harry’s body, but having to sneak in a girl’s bathroom, invisible and with silenced steps, reawakened my discomfort with my male body. I tried not to dwell on it, but sometimes did anyways.

I opened the entrance to the chambers with clumsy parseltongue and hopefully hissed :stairs?: into the slimy pipe.

Nothing. Darn.

Nervous about sliding down, I threw one of my three roosters down the pipe. I know, this kind of counts as animal cruelty, but I was pretty sure it was safe and better it than me.

The rooster crowed in panic before it abruptly cut off. I peered after it into the darkness, but couldn’t see anything.

I cast lumos on my second rooster, and before I could judge my morals too much, chucked it down too. I watched it go and could still see it falling when its frantic crows abruptly cut off. Nothing visible seemed to happen to it, so I chalked it up to a silencing charm. It made sense that Salazar Slytherin had made precautions against the noise of a rooster crowing.

After several minutes to gather my courage, I followed them down with the third rooster in my arms. Before I got it in a full body bind, the poor animal tried to attack me like it was some demented chicken from Zelda.

Luckily, the two previous roosters were walking around at the bottom. With three finite incantatems, they were once again audible and moving. I recast lumos on one and by its dim light, I could see the round door with the snake locking mechanism that led to the main chamber.

I unlocked it with another hissed :open:. Then I cruely tossed the glowing chicken through the doorway.

A wall of fire sprung up, roasting my unfortunate, glowing rooster alive. Then a loud, terrible hissing rang through the chamber. It was deafening in it’s repeated chanting.

:The Chamber of Secrets is under attack.:

I pressed my hands over my ears. The parseltongue alarm was so loud that it must have been audible anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds. Sure enough, a moment later, my scar started to hurt. Thankfully, whether due to distance or sleepiness, Tom Riddle’s emotions were not strong enough that I couldn’t block them out.

The horrid sound rang through the open chamber before me. I threw another light spell ahead, then cast the strongest silencing charm I could through the doorway at the statue of Salazar Slytherin. Surprisingly, that worked to shut up the alarm.

The only way I could think of to get the roosters through that doorway, was to give them whatever potion Snape had brewed in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone for the final obstacle to enter the room with the mirror of Erised. But I didn’t have it, didn’t know what it was called, and wasn’t even sure it would work on animals.

So I went with option two: bring the basilisk to us. I double checked my mirrored glasses, then called for it. It took me a couple attempts before I got the exact wording correct. :Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four.:

I quickly turned around, averting my eyes. The sound of stone grinding against stone preceded what could only be the movements of the basilisk coming out.

I shot a stinging hex at one of my remaining roosters. Following the pained crow, the slithering from the room behind me was replaced with a thump, then nothing.

Success.

 

~

 

The following week, I noticed Riddle peering around suspiciously at his fellow students and Dumbledore. It was subtle and I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t looking for a reaction from him. Luckily, he didn’t seem to suspect me at all or even notice my increased attention.

Life once again settled into a similar routine as the previous year. I studied magic and avoided the young Voldemort.

I spent a good portion of my second year studying time. Over the summer, I had grown increasingly concerned about the fragility of the universe. Time travel was mind boggling and I wanted assurances that I wasn’t going to accidently unravel the fabric of reality.

Sadly, the books in the library were all full of contradictory theories. No one had any reference for time travel like mine occuring. I tried not to ruminate on the philosophical questions, but instead focused on the practical.

Eventually I rationalized that if me being in the past wasn’t enough to destroy the world, I could probably continue to exist there. I obviously wanted to avoid paradoxes, but it was pointless to spend all my time worrying about it since I had no idea how time travel worked. I wanted to change the world for the better, and I wasn’t going to walk away from that dream in some potentially futile attempt to preserve the integrity of the timeline.

It took me until the end of third year to become proficient enough at occlumency to block out all but the most intense of Tom’s visions. Unfortunately, this was  long enough that my ‘get close, lie, and change him’ plan became less feasible. Tom’s ways were becoming an entrenched way of life. Somewhere along the way of watching him in his worst moments, I started to once again prefer the straightforward solution of just offing him.

So I switched my main focus to learning about soul magic. I hoped that I would find a way to remove the horcrux because I still wasn’t willing to seriously consider any options that also involved my death. I didn’t feel too rushed in this endeavor because I had time until Riddle would create his first horcrux (not counting me.)

In the original version of events, the “memory” in the diary had been created after he had opened the Chamber of Secrets sometime in his fifth year. Without the convenience of a basilisk to do his dirty work, it would probably take him longer. Even if my predictions were wrong, I had a front row seat to spy on Tom. Surely, something like figuring out how to create a horcrux would rate highly enough on his emotional scale to pull me into his head, occlumency or not.

Watching Riddle’s early ascent through his own eyes and my distant ones was fascinating. He steadily rose in power across the board—magically, socially, physically, and intellectually. He really was a prodigy. By third year, he had ruthlessly taken over the internal hierarchy among the pre-NEWT Slytherins.

Not only did his housemates respect and fear him, but they also  _ liked _ him. They would seek him out, genuinely wanting to spend more time with him. He was developing a sense of magnetism that attracted faculty and students of all houses. Outside of Slytherin, he wore the charming persona of the perfect head student. Everyone felt like they were his friend.

It was… frightening. I still wanted to befriend him too, but how could I do so when half the student body and staff were also trying to become a confidant and failing?

I was a socially competent adult, but for a reason I didn’t understand until I saw myself through Tom’s eyes, I struggled to bond with my peers. The only friend I made was Eric Bones, who was friends with nearly all the Ravenclaws. He was just one of those boys that got along with everyone.

If I were to become ‘friends’ with Riddle, I had so much to overcome—his initial impression of me, my headaches, and my dislike of him. So I delayed any further attempts to reach out to him.

We left each other alone until we crossed wands in our fourth year. Professor Merrythought ran a dueling tournament for each class starting with the third year students. 

During that year, I lost on purpose a match before I would have had to go against Riddle. My main concern in facing him, was how I would avoid revealing the nature of the shared core between our wands. Not only did I want to avoid knowledge of any connection between us, but when I was able to fight him for real, I wanted every ace possible up my sleeve.

I wasn’t sure how the brother wands worked exactly. How close would our spells have to be for the wands to link? It had happened right away when Harry and Voldemort had turned their wands directly against each other in the graveyard. They hadn’t dueled much in the series, but the problem was present enough that Voldemort had needed a new wand to fight Harry.

Unfortunately, In fourth year I didn’t have a good opportunity to avoid a duel with Riddle. I was set to go up against him in my second match. I would have thrown it if I wasn’t facing one of the weakest students in the year, which made it so that I couldn’t come up with a way to lose without being obvious about it.

So that was how I ended up in front of all of my classmates facing down Tom Riddle. I thought I was at a severe self-imposed disadvantage. In order to keep the connections between our wands a secret, I couldn’t risk our spells touching. I would even avoid casting shields, just in case.

When the end up the countdown was finished, we yelled our spells. Riddle cast the stinging hex, the fastest spell we had learned thus far, a split second before I finished saying the words to the slippery jinx, which I aimed at his feet. His spell flew over mine right as it left my wand. Riddle’s choice of spell combined with his natural speed meant I didn’t have time to dodge.

But his stinging hex did not hit. At the last possible moment, it dissipated, simply fading into nothing.

Riddle lept backwards, avoiding the now slick ground beneath him and with narrowed eyes, fired an expelliarmus. I was too shocked by the results of his previous spell to step out of the way. The stinging hex had been meant as a distraction to open my defenses to more useful dueling spells and despite not hitting, its purpose had been served.

Riddle’s disarming spell was well aimed and there was no doubt that it would have hit if the spell hadn’t also fallen apart right in front of me.

My scar throbbed and there was a moment where we just stared at each other in shock. Then it hit me. Lily’s love was protecting me. This past version of Voldemort had not neutralized it by taking Harry’s blood yet.

He couldn’t touch me.

Riddle cast three spells with lightning speed. I dodged to the left, ducking to avoid a stupefy and another disarming attempt. The third spell however, came right towards where he had maneuvered me. It was an incarcerous, a very advanced spell for a fourth year.

In a normal duel, I would have cast a shield or sliced the ropes.

But the conjured ropes hit me and fell to the ground, useless. They did not wrap around me like the spell was supposed to.

The pain in my scar flared and I felt moisture. It didn’t bleed often, but with Tom so close and his aggression focused on me, it wasn’t difficult to guess why this time was different. My vision flickered. I had gotten much better at occlumency, but this time I couldn’t prevent it. I noticed the silence of the classroom before I fell into Tom’s head.

_ He was was shocked, confused, and angry. Tom abhorred it when he did not understand events and nothing about this made sense. _

_ His spells did not fail. He was not weak. _

_ The weird Ravenclaw’s screamed and fell to his knees before collapsing to the ground, writhing in obvious pain. _

_ Tom had heard of Snow’s cluster headaches, had even seen a couple, but had never paid close attention since they always seemed to happen while he was preoccupied. Was the bleeding related? It certainly looked that way now, but that was  _ not _ a headache symptom. _

_ His instinct was to take advantage of Snow’s distraction and attempt another duel finishing spell, but he suppressed it. Besides the fact that it might fail again (and wasn’t that the most galling thing?), it would not endear him to his audience. No, in this circumstance, it was better to look chivalrous. He set his face into an expression of worry, hiding all of his true emotions except some confusion. _

_ This duel did not made sense! _

_ Snow hadn’t even given it his full effort; he usually displayed more skill than this. He could have cast a simple shielding charm for Merlin’s sake! Did he know Tom’s spells would dissipate like that? Did Snow have some rare, powerful magical armour? But if that were the case, then why hadn’t it come up in any other duels and why not instantly go for a winning move instead of wasting time with the slippery jinx? _

_ And Snow had looked just as surprised as he was. It could be an act—Snow was a chronic liar—but Tom didn’t think so. _

_ He scanned the crowd. No one else seemed to understand what had just happened either, but those useless people never caught onto either his or Snow’s lies. _

_ Professor Merrythought called an end to the duel and moved to help the scrawny, raven-haired boy. Tom followed, wringing his hands in a false expression of worry. Hogwarts’s Healer Apprentice, Sanana, who always attended these competitions, arrived first. She gently pulled Snow’s hand away from his forehead. _

_ “Can we do anything?” Professor Merrythought asked.  _

_ “No,” Sanana replied. “We’ve had Snow in before. This looks like one of his worse headaches, but all we can do is wait it out.” _

_ “He will be okay then?” Tom asked as he reached to grab one of Snow’s hands as part of his concerned student act. _

_ Sanana nodded and pressed some gauze to Snow’s bleeding scar. _

_ Tom’s hand connected with the strange boy and he was consumed by hot agony. He heard a scream—his, embarrassingly—and ripped his hand away. It was covered with a nasty burn. _

_ What the bloody hell? _

_ He was used to pain, but this had been worse than any he’d experienced. Tom’s blood boiled. _

_ Snow stirred, almost coming back to himself. Sanana was touching him just fine. Was it only Tom that couldn’t touch him? But why, and how? Snow had never spent more than a minute near him. _

_ Everything he knew about “Harry Snow” flashed through his mind. His name was fake and he spun lies whenever asked personal questions. The boy was weird and didn’t fit in with his peers. He was friendly enough, but had an obnoxious air of superiority and treated everyone but the teachers with an odd sort of patronizing care. _

_ More peculiarly, Snow had gone really far out of his way to avoid Tom from the very beginning, except that one time in the library. He had noticed that he would sit as far as possible from him in class and turn to take different routes if they came across each other in the halls. Tom knew that Snow had not found it “nice” to meet him and had, of course, wondered, but hadn’t cared enough to confront the strange mudblood that was so intent on staying away from him. Perhaps that had been an oversight. _

_ Sanana said something, then reached for his hand. He yanked it away before he could stop himself. _

_ He took a deep, pained breath, which did not work to calm his rage. He should have won this duel. _

_ “Mr. Riddle, let me take a look at that,” Sanana said gently, _

_ Tom had to force himself to comply. The command irked him, but there was no rational reason not to let her heal him. Sanana took a bottle out of her medicine bag and rubbed some salve onto his palm. The burn faded. _

_ As it did, so to did some of Tom’s anger. This could be an opportunity. Figuring out the mystery of the strange Ravenclaw and how to defeat him would certainly be interesting. He had been getting rather bored lately. Perhaps he could even duplicate Snow’s strong defensive magic. One thing was for sure though—his time of letting Harry Snow be, was over. _


	4. Thread

Riddle did not wait long to seek me out. The weekend following our duel, he approached my usual reading spot, a comfortable patch of grass near the lake. Regardless of season, I did a lot of my studying outside, far from the library and the pain that being near Riddle caused. It was a pleasant morning, sunny if a bit cold.

I had a nice, hot drink, a blanket to sit on, and a warming charm on my cloak. There were very few things I enjoyed about being stuck in a kid’s body, but the ability to sit on the ground for long periods of time without back and neck pain was one.

I was studying a divintation book about how to see the soul. I read whatever could contain even a useful hint on how to solve my horcrux problem. Even though I didn’t much care for fortune telling (my future knowledge was far more accurate than anything I could read on a palm), I figured that perhaps I could figure out a way to see how the horcrux was attached to me.

The pain in my scar alerted me to Riddle’s approach long before I would have heard him. He was alone. He waved and there was an awkward moment where we had acknowledged each other, but were not yet close enough to speak.

I was not looking forward to this discussion. The night after the duel had been another sleepless night as I replayed the scene over and over again, first from my perspective, then his.

Plots had run through my head all night, but what I really wanted was for him to leave me alone. That didn’t seem like it would happen.

“May I join you?” he asked with a charming smile.

I deliberately looked at my book longingly and the silence stretched longer than was polite. I knew this wouldn’t make him go away, but I was hopeful that if he found me unpleasant, he’d be less likely to seek me out in the future.

“What are you reading?” he asked next, seemingly unfazed and already squinting at the thin book in my hands.

“ _ Reading the Soul _ ” Riddle read. “That is one of the required books for NEWT level divination. I didn’t realize you were interested in that branch of magic.”

I wasn’t, which was why I wasn’t taking it, unlike Tom, who was in everything but Muggle Studies. I considered what he would find the least interesting reason I could have for reading the book.

“I heard that soul reading is a good way to find a romantic partner.”

“So you’re reading a NEWT level textbook to help you find a girl?”

I laughed nervously, hoping that it came across as embarrassed. “Maybe I’m trying to find a boy, but either way, how very Ravenclaw of me.”

“A boy? How interesting. Your method is a bit eccentric, even for a Ravenclaw. The ones I know turn to magazines, or perhaps OWL level books at the most,” he said with a smile. I couldn’t suppress a responding grin, which Riddle took as an invitation to sit at the edge of my blanket.

I shut  _ Reading the Soul _ and shifted to both face him and scoot away.

“I was wondering… what was that defense you used in our duel? It was quite spectacular.”

“I’m not sure. I think it was accidental magic.” If he could tell I was lying, he did not show it.

“That is the conclusion you and Professor Merrythought came too, yes, but you see, I went and did a little research.” His eyes were locked intently on mine. “The things that people do with accidental magic are simple in nature and can be reproduced with the sort of magic any Hogwarts graduate can do. But what you did is thought to be impossible. No single defense spell can counter all the spells I cast so completely.”

I shrugged, maintaining eye contact.

“If it were accidental magic, however, you wouldn’t be able to do it again under calmer circumstances.” His wand was suddenly in his hand, pointed at me. It had not been there when he sat down, nor had he reached for his pocket.

I went for mine, but not before he cast. It was once again the stinging hex and like before, it dissipated right in front of me.

I jerked backwards, pointing my wand at him. With a small flourish, his disappeared up his sleeve. He smiled disarmingly, though his body was held with the tension of someone about to dodge.

“That wouldn’t have hurt. I can cast spells quite mildly if I choose. I merely wanted to test the theory…and isn’t it interesting that it isn’t accidental magic?”

He grinned, dark eyes still locked on mine. His gaze was so intent that it was a struggle not to look away.

“Well? Are you not curious about the nature of your defense? It could be quite useful, if we could figure out what it is.”

My mouth felt very dry.

“You’re not curious? How odd...unless you already know.”

“Of course I don’t.”

He tilted his head, then shifted onto his knees a bit closer to me, within arms reach. I pushed myself back, off the blanket.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Harry Snow?” His lips curved upwards. He again moved towards me.

“Yes, so how about a bit of personal space?”

He ignored my request, scooting closer. “Why are you uncomfortable?”

I abruptly stood and he followed suit, reached out to grab my wrist, clearly with the intent of preventing me from retreating.

But once his fingers touched my skin, my wrist felt like it was being doused by coffee that had cooled just enough to be drinkable--painful, but not unbearable. He inhaled sharply and we both pulled away. Where his fingers had connected, there was a blistered, red wound. My wrist was unmarred.

He looked from his wound to my smooth skin with fascination. My scar throbbed. My throat was dry, but I swallowed anyways. My fingers clenched around my wand.

“Tell me.” There was force behind his words, but I did not respond, whether due to my occlumency, willpower, or the defensive blood magic, I did not know.

“Why is it that you have fled from me since the moment you first laid eyes on me?”

When I failed to answer, he went on. “It’s clearly not accidental magic or any ordinary spell. Perhaps you cast something before I arrived, but no, you weren’t expecting me to join you this morning, were you? It must be a latent defense then. But why does it only work against me?”

He stepped forward and I had to stop myself from taking a step away. Why did I keep retreating? I was protected from him. He took another step and I put my non-wand hand between us. He stopped, eyeing it.

“I have avoided you because, quite simply, I don’t like you. That first day on the train, I saw something in your eyes, something that did not belong on the face of a child. So I decided to keep my distance.”

Even without the pain in my scar, I could tell he didn’t believe me. And why should he? It wasn’t my best lie because I had, after all, attempted to join him in the library shortly afterwards.

“Distance I would like to maintain,” I said. No longer afraid of his advancements because really, what could he do to me, I looked away and gathered my belongings.

“And your latent defense?”

I shrugged and looked him straight in the eye. I knew it was a bad idea to provoke him, but I was feeling quite annoyed. “Maybe it’s not a latent defense of mine. Maybe it’s a weakness of yours.”

Tom’s face remained neutral, but my scar exploded in pain. I stumbled momentarily as my vision was overlaid with his before I got a firm grip on myself. Now would be a very inconvenient time to fall into his head. “No need to be rude. I do not normally offer my assistance in extra-curricular research. You should be flattered.”

“Thanks, but no.” I deliberately turned my back on him, causing another spike of pain. With a deep breath and more effort than I had ever put into multitasking with occlumency before, I walked towards the castle. He let me go in silence.

When I glanced back, he was still watching me and his expression was entirely unreadable.

~

He sat next to me in DADA two days later with a friendly smile despite the pulse of pain my scar gave. He, apparently was going to continue the charming ruse despite how our last conversation had played out. Was he really that arrogant in his ability to win people over?

After some polite small talk, I decided to be blunt. “I’m still not interested in researching what happened during the duel with you.”

“Because you already know?”

“No.”

“Then why not? Knowledge is power.”

I smirked and wished that my knowledge of what was to gave me more power than it did. Changing the future shouldn’t have been this hard. “Yes, but my answer is still no.”

He looked skeptical and prodded further until the lesson started, but I brushed him off. I promptly left at the end of class.

~

After that, Tom Riddle became annoying. He kept striking up conversations with me and sitting near me in class. It was obvious that he was trying to get me to warm up to him. He was persistent and charming and if it weren’t for my knowledge of who he was and the near constant pain in my scar, it would have worked.

As it was, I continued being evasive. To the best of my knowledge, I let no extra knowledge of my secrets slip during this period of time, which lasted for the rest of the school year.

~

At the end of the year, the night after we took our final exams, I was finally ready to cast the ritual that would allow me to see my soul and the horcrux.

I went to the Chamber of Secrets with everything I needed--a knife, a magic tool that was essentially a paint brush, a small cauldron, and a potion originally intended to aid seers in seeing significant events of the present instead of the future.

Soul magic wasn’t inherently dark, but since the soul was tied to life and death, many rituals required dark materials. Since my ritual would only let me see my own soul, it didn’t need any major sacrifices, just blood.

I stood before the corpse of the basilisk, holding the knife for several moments, just staring at my arm. Then before I could overthink it, I sliced my arm open and let the blood pool into the cauldron.

I sat next to the cauldron and waited. It took longer than I thought it would to get the amount of blood I needed. Getting blood drawn in the modern muggle world always involved vacuum sealed test tubes that literally pulled the blood out. Injuries were slower and messier. By the time the cauldron was full, I was light headed. I promptly healed myself.

Then I poured the seer potion into the mixture and stirred with the knife, creating the paint I would use for the ritual circle.

I tried to stand, but a quick rush of increased dizziness forced me back down. I grit my teeth and crawled to where I would perform the magic. Luckily, this ritual did not require any physical exertion. I drew a series of crisscrossing lines in a large ritual circle, carefully sketching the runes that I had derived along the outer rim. Apprehension and excitement turned my stomach as I finished the last of the preparations.

I carefully situated myself in the middle of the circle and began to chant. An iridescent haze started to form around me and as I went on, it solidified into a mostly uniform, silvery cloud. Near the edge was a very bright glowing, white wall.

I had to squint through it to see what could only be described as a writhing blur of smoke that was so dark and dense, I could just barely make out shades of red moving throughout the black. It could only be the horcrux, which meant that the bright white wall was probably Lily’s love magic.

By impulse, I reached out to touch it. This ritual was only designed to let me observe my soul and any horcruxes, so I was surprised when my hand hit something warm and hard… and well, loving.

I gaped. This was quite literally, a physical manifestation of love. It was the pure love of a mother for her only son. The love of a woman I had never met for a boy whose body I had taken over.

It was a moment before I could force myself to focus again. The magic of this ritual would not last very long with the amount of blood I had used.

It was difficult, but I pressed my hand through. Immediately, a tendril of the horcrux smoke whipped out and curled around my hand.

After the warmth of the light barrier, this felt like being drenched in ice water. More tendrils snaked around my hand, squeezing tightly.

I gasped and yanked my hand back. The fog resisted and followed my hand out of the light prison. My emotions were overwhelmed by something foreign, but close to what I’d already been experiencing--confusion and intrigue.

I saw a flash of Tom walking down a hall. Before I could think to wonder what he was doing out of bed so late, I gave a stronger yank and strengthened my occlumency shields.

Tendrils of black were mixed with the silver cloud I could only assume was my own, whole soul. As I focused on my occlumency, some iridescent force pushed the smoke back through Lily’s barrier and my hand was freed.

I had touched Tom’s soul and fallen into his head. Was this what happened every time I looked out of his eyes?

I focused my occlumency inside of the the protective barrier and was able to move the horcrux around a bit. Maybe there was a way I could utilize something similar to remove the horcrux? Or I could use some combination involving legilimency?

The horcrux was, unfortunately, surrounded on all sides by my own silver soul. I doubted I’d be able to simply push it away.

My train of thought died as I noticed a dark thread extending out of Lily’s barrier, beyond the ritual circle, and out of the room. The thread was small, but distinct. How had I missed it?

Suddenly, the smoke pulsed and tendrils passed through the light barrier and up against my iridescent occlumency. My scar lit up in pain.

Curious, I relaxed my occlumency a bit. I wanted to see what happened when I saw visions. Some of the dark smoke connected to the silver fog and I was once again looking out of Tom Riddle’s eyes at a very familiar bathroom. My stomach lurched.

He stood in front of the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Surrounding him was a whole, peaceful red cloud. Extending out of it was the same dark thread I’d seen just moments ago.

With a flare of panic, I wrenched myself out of his mind and reformed my mental protections. My ritual had connected with the young Voldemort allowing him to see the results too. I cursed. My breaths were coming very quickly, much like Tom Riddle probably was.

The dark thread leading towards the world above was thicker now. I pushed on the thread with occlumency, but it had little effect besides a slight ripple.

I hastily smeared some of the paint in the circle, effectively ending the ritual in a flare of silver light. The visual representations of my soul, the horcrux, and the thread were gone. A soft thump echoed as something hit the ground below the pipe to the bathroom. With a quick curse and whispered incantation, I turned myself invisible and muted my footsteps.

I stood, then stumbled from another wave of dizziness. I carefully walked towards the nearest pillar. I didn’t make it before a louder thump sounded throughout the open space and a wide eyed Tom Riddle walked in.

In awe, he mouthed, “the Chamber of Secrets.” Despite the direness of the situation, I had the wild thought that Tom Riddle looked pretty adorable as his eyes shone with undisguised delight.

Then the moment passed and Tom had his wand out as his eyes roamed cautiously over the room, passing straight through me. They lingered worriedly on the basilisk corpse under the statue of his ancestor.

His dark eyes locked on my ritual circle and he carefully approached. It was painfully obvious how fresh the ritual was. The paint was still wet, and my other supplies were messily scattered just outside the circle. Thank god my wand was in my pocket.

“Who’s there?” Tom asked. “Hominem revelio!”

The spell fizzled out harmlessly before it hit me. Tom’s eyes narrowed as he continued to look around. He was clearly skeptical of the spell’s failure, but the human revealing spell was very difficult to block. Unless you had Lily’s love protecting you, of course.

I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Lily’s ghost, despite the fact that she hadn’t been born yet.

Tom knelt and closely examined my ritual circle. I took the opportunity to circle back towards the door.

I was at a loss for what to do. Luckily, all of my blood had thoroughly mixed with the potion, meaning Riddle shouldn’t be able to identify me with it. It was too late to hide the ritual or equipment from him. I didn’t want to risk confronting him either.

“Soul, vision, horcrux…” he murmured to himself, reading my runes.

I winced. What would he be able to deduce from this? The amount of knowledge he knew that he shouldn’t was piling up to an alarming degree. At least this incident wasn’t obviously connected with me.

Although, Riddle had seen me reading a book about souls… But that had been months ago. I thought myself in the clear.

A rope hung in the pipe leading up to the bathroom with some excess coiled at the bottom. I cast a charm to reduce my weight enough that I could climb out despite my dizziness. I didn’t consider peaking into Tom’s mind until I was in bed and by then, his emotions had calmed so much that I was unable to.

I did not sleep well that night.

The next morning, we boarded the train home. I caught Riddle eyeing me a couple times, but his popularity worked against him and I was able to avoid him the whole train ride.

When his emotions were stronger, I looked in his head a couple times, but each time he was either focused on what was going on around him or reflecting on his own identity as the heir of Slytherin and what that could mean for his future. He considered that some magic of the Chamber had called to him, but he was not convinced.

It was fortunate that I had waited until the end of the year to perform my ritual. Now, I had the whole summer to plan and prepare for the next school year. The problem of the young Voldemort was becoming trickier.


	5. Interrupt

I felt stuck on an impossible task. My plan for the future was simple enough in isolation. Figure out how to remove the horcrux—if such a thing was even possible—then kill Tom Riddle. But Tom Riddle had made himself a part of my life and was learning too much about me.

At first I panicked, thinking that he must have figured out all my secrets. I considered leaving Hogwarts to continue my soul studies elsewhere, but I didn’t want to run, and I couldn’t give up the Hogwarts library, which was one of the best in Europe.

Then it occured to me, that perhaps being under Riddle’s intense scrutiny wasn’t the end of the world. If I could succeed in killing him before he rose to power—which was a bigger if than I was comfortable with—it wouldn’t matter what he discovered. The only thing I really needed to keep secret was that I was planning on killing him.

With the panic gone, I analyzed what he might have already figured out. He must have deduced that there was something, some connection, between us—the defensive magic was just too unique.

He had no reason to suspect that I was his horcrux. The idea would be too outlandish for him to consider. How could he have an unknown horcrux when he had never split his soul?

It was possible he suspected it was me doing the ritual at the end of the year. I was glad his leading theory was the very convenient red herring that the Chamber of Secrets had called to him, even though he had not been completely convinced when I spied on his thoughts.

If he seriously entertained that a person was involved, it wasn’t unreasonable for him to assume it was me. Maybe I was being a bit egotistical for thinking his thoughts would so readily turn to me due to his failed human revealing spell because there were wizards powerful enough to counter such detection attempts.

If he did guess it was me, it logically followed that I was a parselmouth. From there, he might assume me to be another heir of Slytherin (could there be multiple heirs?) If he made that assumption, would he then consider that we could be family? We were both orphans and did have somewhat similar physical appearances. It was a logical conclusion. How would he react? Family didn’t seem to mean a whole lot to him.

He would deduce that I had slain the basilisk. The Chamber of Secrets was said to have been sealed since the era of Salazar Slytherin, but the basilisk corpse was clearly only a few years old. This would annoy Riddle, but it wouldn’t prevent any of my plans from preceding. It would all heighten his curiosity of me, but I doubted it would make him violent. 

My more dangerous secret of time travel was probably safe because it was thought to be impossible. I behaved a bit oddly sometimes, sure, but none of my classmates were familiar enough with America to know that some of my weird behaviors were not just due to moving countries.

If he learned I was from the future, his curiosity would spike and his patience and friendly methods would wane, causing him to resort to more drastic measure to get the information he wanted. If he somehow forced me to talk—and I knew I was not invulnerable to torture—I could end up securing his victory far faster than he had achieved it the first time around.

At least I had Lily’s defensive magic and the slight battle advantage of the secret of our brother wands. It was possible that Ollivander had told Tom of the sale of his brother wand to another Hogwarts student, but I had not noticed him paying any careful attention to mine, so I judged him unlikely to know.

I clung to the idea that most of my secrets were safe from Tom Riddle, but I couldn’t stop myself from worrying. The guy was an observant genius and was capable of piecing together small incidents into a cohesive picture.

As much as possible, I wanted to know what he was thinking. The distance between us limited my opportunities, so I took every chance to tune into his mind whenever I felt the slightest pain in my scar.

Mostly, I would see him seething about being forced to stay in the orphanage after someone or something annoyed him. World War 2 particularly irked him. How could the  _ heir of Slytherin _ be sent back to such a horrid, muggle place every summer? Other times, I saw him studying dark magic.

I spent most of my free time studying soul magic, but unlike Riddle, I had to take care of all my survival needs, so I had less time to spend reading.

I lucked out and found new restricted soul magic books at Borgin and Burkes. I studied the intricacies of horcruxes and other dark soul magics and compared them to what I had already learned in the books at Hogwarts. The books had vastly different perspectives, but agreed on most of the facts.

That summer felt like more of an academic competition than anything else, despite the other party having no knowledge that there even was a contest. I had to figure out how to remove the horcrux attached to me before Riddle learned enough to start creating them. 

I did not.

Near the middle of the summer, I felt the foreign rush of excitement I had been dreading—Tom Riddle had cracked the mystery of splitting his soul into small pieces to create six stable horcruxes. He sat at his desk, beaming, with notes and dark magic books scattered about.

The fact that he would have to commit murder to do it, did not bother Tom. Horrifyingly, it excited him. He bored easily while inflicting punishment and pain, but murder, he thought, would surely be interesting. He wanted to know how it felt to extinguish a life.

I was disturbed more by my own imposed deadline than his dark thoughts. Was it safe to wait, or did I need to change plans to immediately kill the young Voldemort?

I was sure I could kill him in an ambush. But I was not sure if I was ready to kill myself in the process.

Originally he hadn’t killed until the end of this year. This was no guarantee of anything, but it was enough for me to rationalize procrastinating my suicide-murder.

I decided not to act.

 

~

 

The rest of the summer passed uneventfully and I returned to Hogwarts for my fifth year. Riddle and I had both been made prefects. He was preoccupied during the resulting meetings and for most of the first couple weeks back at Hogwarts. He was planning something—probably the creation of his horcruxes—but without the amount of emotion it would take for me to be able to slip into his head.

I noticed him watching me, but he did not seek out my company as much as he had before the summer. This was a welcome reprieve that I had not expected.

I didn’t have to wait long for his plans to come to fruition. Everything went to shit during the first Hogsmeade weekend.

I was in Honeydukes, browsing the chocolates when my scar started hurting as bad as it ever had. The pain was so sudden and severe, I dropped my basket in the middle of the aisle. Knowing very well what could be happening, I slid to the floor and into Riddle’s head.

_ Tom smiled as he led his chosen victim towards the forest clearing he had prepared. He kept his wand pointed at the short, imperiused man. The guy was a squib—born of a mudblood—and recently engaged to a pureblood witch. He was a spreading stain on wizarding society. The man almost didn’t deserve the honor of being Tom’s first kill. _

_ He, the heir of Slytherin, would take the first step towards immortality by ridding the magical world of one that would pollute it’s heritage. No one would ever know of this historical moment, but if they did, it would be heralded as the beginning of his rise to power. The first death to pave the way toward a future of magical might. _

With an effort, I yanked myself out of Tom’s head, gasping. The air smelled of blood and chocolate. The shop clerk was standing over me, wand held hesitantly in her hand.

“Are you alright, dear?” She was older and bit overweight, giving off an air of grandmotherly concern.

I grit my teeth through the pain. “Yes, just a sudden headache.”

“You’re bleeding. Here, I can patch that up,” she said.

I touched my scar—she was right. “It’s alright, really.” I stumbled to my feet. She shifted, ready to catch me if I fell.

“Maybe you should rest for a moment.”

“No… I can’t. I need to go.”

She eyed me skeptically, then looked at the spilled candies at my feet.

“Sorry, and um, thank you.” I rushed outside, leaving her protests behind.

I scanned Hogsmeade. Tom Riddle was gone by now, off into the woods. But which way had he gone? I leaned against the side of the shop and relaxed my occlumency the slightest amount.

_ Tom walked through sparse undergrowth and moderately dense trees. Patchy sunlight shone above, providing little warmth in the fall, morning air. As he moved, so did his shadow that stretched out before him. _

_ He approached the wards he had prepared. With a couple flicks of his wand, he passed through with the squib mindlessly following in his footsteps. _

I took a deep breath. Based on the sun, he was directly west of the town. I ran, not caring if I was drawing attention. I didn’t know what I planned to do, but I knew I had to act soon.

Someone shouted something at me as I entered the treeline, but whatever they said was muffled by my fast breathing and footsteps, then muted by the foliage of the woods. I hopped over small obstacles and scrambled directly through brush, heedless of the damage done to my robe.

My scar pulsed and because my occlumency shields were still a bit relaxed, I tripped, hitting the ground hard.

_ Tom eyed his ritual circle one last time. There were no errors in it, of course, but it never hurt to be precise for something so important. He directed his victim to the middle of the circle. The man obediently lay down. _

I grunted as I reinforced my mental defenses. I pushed myself up, grimacing as my ankle twinged in pain. I took a careful step, then another. I could still walk and that was all that mattered.

I rushed forward, but my pace was slowed and I couldn’t help but limp. I wasn’t quite sure where Tom was, but I knew he’d be at least a small distance from town. I looked around for any openings where a clearing may be. My scar was hurting worse than it had in Honeydukes, but I wasn’t sure if that was due to a closer proximity to Tom or his growing excitement.

My scar pulsed again. I managed to keep my barriers in place, but my vision was once again overlaid with the clearing and I felt a flair of annoyance that was not solely my own. I stopped and took a brief peak.

_ Tom whipped his head around. He was no longer alone—something big was crashing through the woods. _

Something big? I was still a scrawny teenager. At least I was on the right path. A sneak attack would have been nice, but I’d already blown any chance of that. I continued forward and yelled, as loud as I thought I could without anyone from town hearing, “Tom!”

The responding pain took my breath away.

_ Tom’s head whipped up. Someone had followed him? Impossible—he had been meticulous in his kidnapping. He squinted through the trees, seeing movement—a stumbling kid wearing Hogwarts robes. _

I caught myself and looked in the direction I now knew Tom to be, but there was only an empty clearing. I stumbled forward, wincing as my ankle sent a sudden stab of pain, in protest of my reckless pace. “Tom!”

_ It was Harry Snow. Again? But of course it would be him. _

_ How had he found him? His wards were  _ good _. They acted on the world itself, not the observers, meaning that even  _ Harry Snow _ should not be able to find him. Yet there he was, undeniably stumbling rather clumsily towards Tom. It was odd that he was finally calling him by his first name after futile attempts to keep him at arm’s length by only ever calling him “Riddle”. _

_ Snow looked bad. Blood ran down his face and his left leg barely supported him. He collapsed, crying out in pain. If this was a cluster headache, it was very convenient timing, especially since Harry had been having less of those, last he heard. _

_ Tom grinned—there was a silver lining here. Harry Snow was weak, defenseless perhaps, and far from help. It wouldn’t take much to get him inside his wards, and then no one could find them. Well, they shouldn’t be able to… He could satisfy his curiosity once and for all, then try out his new memory charm device, which should remove twelve hours from whomever it was used on. He had time to do both that and create his horcrux. _

_ Tom twirled his wand, considering. He cast a full body bind on the dirty squib. He wanted to dedicate his full focus to dealing with the problematic Ravenclaw. He’d thought long and hard about how to duel and interrogate someone that you couldn’t touch or directly perform magic on. He’d practiced several spells and strategies for an occasion just like this. _

I pulled myself out of Tom’s head with a thrill of terror and re-strengthened my occlumency shields with everything I had. The time for spying through his eyes was over.

I had my wand out just in time to shield myself from a large branch speeding towards me. Clumps of dirt, more branches and some rocks rose into the air, surrounding me.

“Tom! I just want to talk!”

“Then start talking,” he said. The floating debris started to swirl around me, levitating more objects with every rotation.

“Okay, drop the…” I gestured around me. “The whirlwind thing, and let’s have a civil conversation.”

More debris flew up from the forest ground. “Why are you here?”

I bit my lip, not sure which angle to go with. I’d likely have to reveal something in order to get him to stop, but perhaps I could lie about this. He would not react well to the knowledge that I could regularly see into his mind. “I saw you leaving town with the man, who has obviously been imperiused. What are you going to do to him?”

There was no response for a moment, then a branch flew towards me. I ducked, then promptly shielded as a rock flew at me from just inside my peripheral vision. I frantically scanned the area. A barrier, I needed a barrier.

The sound of the whirlwind increasing in speed drowned out any reply he made. My Ravenclaw scarf whipped uncomfortably in the wind.

More branches flew at me. I dodged, dropping to the ground and tapping it with my wand. Transfiguration was difficult in the heat of the moment and in large quantities, but in the moment, I could think of no other way to block the incoming projectiles.

I focused on shifting the dirt into a wall around me. The ground began to rise into messy brown walls, but before I could finish, a large portion of the forest debris broke off, converging in on my short fortress. I had to interrupt its construction to protego upwards. The branches and rocks bounced against my shield, and the dirt broke apart. Before the pieces could hit the ground, they were pulled back into the cyclone.

Objects collided with my rising soil wall, causing dirt to fall on me. The sky darkened with another cloud of wood, rocks, and dirt.

“Protego!” I yelled, casting directly up again, just as the debris started to rain down. This strategy was barely working at best.

When it died down, I transfigured an opening in my cylindrical wall towards Tom’s clearing. He was now outside his wards, no longer invisible, but hard to see through the whirlwind. He was walking directly towards me, his steps steady and unhurried.

“Bombarda!” I cried, pointing my wand directly towards him. The branches and rocks exploded into pieces, flying in every direction. A rock shard cut into my arm, but I ignored it, immediately following up with, “Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!”

Two branches flew up to block the first two red spells and Tom sidestepped the third.

His control over the forest floor was absurd. No fifth year student should be able to manage so many flying objects. For the first time since I had discovered the extent of Lily’s love protection, I felt vulnerable.

I had such a strong defense that it seemed absurd to me that I could lose, but Riddle had obviously put a lot of thought into how to combat someone he couldn’t directly cast magic at. I had considered these countermeasures a little, but I never imagined Tom’s level of control was so good. He was  _ better _ than he showed himself to be while dueling in class. Most adult wizards would struggle to control half as many things.

I cast a voice amplifying charm on myself to be heard over the whipping wind and the thumping of forrest scraps colliding. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to!”

Riddle laughed. With a quick flick of his wand, everything but the rocks flew out of the whirlwind straight at me.

I cast another bombarda to my left, intending to leap out of the way in that direction. My abused ankle protested and I instead fell to the ground.

The bombara cleared a good chunk of the debris, but the rest flew at me unimpeded. Several painful hits later and I was buried in clumps of dirt and bramble. Riddle grinned triumphantly, walking towards me with slow, measured steps. The rocks continued to swirl threateningly in the air.

My leg was pretty well pinned, but I could maneuver my wand arm just enough to point the tip at Riddle. I cast another barrage of stupefies just before he got off an accio on my wand.

Even caught off guard by my ability to still move my hand, Riddle admirably dodged the first two and manipulated the flying rocks in an attempt to intercept. Unfortunately for him, one got through. He fell gracelessly to the ground and so did his rocks.

With combat over, I took a moment to catch my breath and calm down. Then, using magic, I unburied myself, one or two branches at a time.

Once free, I cast the healing and cleaning spells that I could. My skills in this area were limited, but it was enough to get me back to the castle.

Riddle was out cold. He’d landed in a way that hadn’t hurt him, so I decided to leave him there to recover on his own. The Hogsmeade trip was scheduled for the whole day and he would wake up before we had to return to Hogwarts.

The site for his ritual was still invisible, but the squib appeared, stumbling out on his own; the magic holding him immobile had vanished now that his captor was unconscious. He was dazed and afraid. I guided him back to town, doing my best to comfort him.

 

~

 

I made it back to the castle before Tom awoke. When he did, his anger was severe enough that my scar bled despite the distance between us. I looked inside his mind, but it was mostly mindless rage (directed at me) tinged with the panic of his victim getting away. He cleared his ritual circle and destroyed a nearby tree before removing all evidence that any of us had ever been there. He did not have enough time to track down the squib, who was doubtlessly hiding or going to the aurors, before he too had to return to Hogwarts. He confirmed his alibi with his trusted Slytherins that would say he’d been with them to any who asked.

I spent the rest of the evening filled with unease, popping in and out of his head. He stayed angry well into the night, but he did not start to plan his revenge on me until he calmed down, leaving me in the dark.

With the veneer of friendly peace between us broken, I feared for my future at Hogwarts.


	6. Memory

An auror came to Hogwarts to question Riddle about the incident in the forest. The squib reported that he had been ambushed and had awoken from an Imperio daze a while later. For whatever reason, he left me out of his report.

The investigation did not amount to much. Riddle had three people vouch for his alibi and the word of a squib did not hold much weight against the star pupil of Hogwarts. I noticed Dumbledore observing Riddle a bit more, but everyone else seemed to assume that the squib was slandering and during the next Hogsmeade weekend, he was hexed by a vengeful group of Slytherins.

A week after the investigation closed, Riddle attempted to ambush me in the hall after dinner. I often walked back to the Ravenclaw common room alone and without bothering to vary my route.

Luckily, my scar served as an effective radar. It pulsed in pain, giving me just enough warning to look up before two large snakes exited an abandoned classroom, quickly slithering toward me. I whipped my wand out and banished them.

Tom Riddle did not show himself and I felt his frustration as a pounding headache. Before anything else could happen, I hurried away. I had to reinforce my occlumency to remain in my own head as I went.

* * *

The following weekend he had more success.

I left the Great Hall after breakfast on Saturday, walking with a couple other Ravenclaws.

Then, nothing.

I remember absolutely nothing until many hours later, when it was dark.

The next thing I can remember was being dazed, bound, and on the ground in pain. My breaths came in heavy rushes and my face was coated in blood and sweat. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably.

The floor was cool against my hot body. The world was blurry and dark. With a jolt of panic, I tugged on my restraints, which didn’t give.

“Did it work?” Tom Riddle’s voice came from right next to me.

I squinted, noting the lack of glasses on my face. Tom stood above me holding something metallic that was covered in glowing lettering or runes. His wand was stowed.

I tried to jerk back, but whatever held my arms and legs made my attempt little more than another spasm. Tom laughed. My scar ached, but it was a pain I was used to, unlike the throbbing in my muscles.

“Oh Harry, you know I don’t like being ignored.”

I could not feel my wand anywhere on my person. The bindings—ropes I could tell now that I was testing them with a bit more—felt very secure, like someone had cast an incarcerous on me. But Riddle couldn’t cast that spell on me and we were in what appeared to be an empty classroom, alone.

Riddle’s blurry face stared down at me. There was a bit of amusement in his voice when he said, “so it did work.”

I licked my dry lips. “What worked?”

“My Obliviator, of course,” he said, waving the metallic object in his hand. “You were so interested in it just a moment ago.”

To say I freaked out would be an understatement. Every sense of unease and wrongness I had, peaked. My careful probing of my bonds became frantic thrashing as I fought to get free. My muscles protested as I forced them to move beyond what they were currently capable of.

My mind was alight in such panic that I wasn’t thinking rational thoughts, only about how everything was surely ruined now.

Something wet hit my back and my world was consumed by pain. Searing heat rushed through my veins, feeling like it was scalding every bit of flesh I had. It was like every bit of skin I had was being touched by a pan fresh out of the oven from both the inside and out. My body moved about violently, but there was no escaping the flaming agony.

It was hard to judge the passage of time when overwhelmed by pain, but thanks to the horcrux, I’d gotten some practice. The burning probably only lasted a couple minutes at the most.

“It’s interesting how a bit of pain can calm you down and clear the mind, is it not?”

“What the hell was that?”

“I never knew you to ask the same question twice, Harry,” he said, sadistically. “You were always too good of a student to forget the answer.”

He looked at a small glass object he held in his hand. It looked like some sort of container. Tom shifted it, and I could see a lightly colored fluid inside.

“All you need to know about this is that I can make you feel that way anytime I want, despite your defensive magic. Turns out your protection does nothing against potions or artefacts.”

He continued to eye the potion happily before putting it back in his pocket.

“You will remember this. I want you to know the consequences of crossing me.” He paused again, eyeing me. “I will not kill you due to the horcrux inside of you, but there are many other fates I can inflict on you.”

My stomach sank.

“Yes, you told me about the horcrux. You told me a great many things.”

I tried to hide the extent to which his words horrified me. “Wh-what did I tell you?”

He smirked. “Everything.”

There was a moment in which everything was still and my thoughts ground to a halt. Riddle said nothing, savoring my reaction.

Then my thoughts returned, working overtime. There was no way I had told him everything—I had too many secrets. No matter what he had done, I would not—and probably could not—have revealed all of them.

I dearly hoped that the horcrux was all I had told him about. But what excuse had I given him to make that sound plausible?

I’d idly considered excuses in the past designed to appeal to his ego, like he was born with an especially large soul and that I had been at the ocean the day he had taken the two kids from his orphanage into the cave. He had hurt them enough for it to split his already over-sized soul and it had taken refuge in the nearest other magical being. It was a shaky story at best, but I had hoped that having knowledge of what happened that day, coupled with the presence of the horcrux itself, would be enough to sway him. I had no way of knowing if my story had worked or not.

To tell him about the horcrux though—I must have been desperate. I knew I was not invulnerable to torture, but to reveal such a dangerous secret…I shivered. I must have been afraid that he would kill me otherwise.

“So dear horcrux of mine, here’s what happens next. You will stay out of my head and out of my way. You will stay out of danger and do nothing to risk your safety. You can finish your education, but after Hogwarts…You. Are. Mine.”

I met his eyes and said nothing. He frowned and studied me for a long moment. Something about how I looked must have pleased him because he eventually smirked and left the room. I’m not sure if it was the sight of me at his feet, my still quivering body, or the fear I was trying to hide.

* * *

By the next day, I was oscillating wildly between fear and numbness.

Losing most of a day to something horrible and not being able to remember what had happened was terrifying. I couldn’t help but shiver every time I recalled the gap in my memory. I wasn’t sure which was worse, that void or the small part I could remember.

It knew it would not be long until Tom Riddle attempted to create a horcrux and that I needed to act soon one way or the other.

I decided to watch him as best I could. If I could still spy on him without his knowledge, I’d use that, warning or no. I’d be as stealthy as possible, of course, but I was willing to risk that he might find out. Maybe if I had been able to remember the full extent to which he had tortured me, I wouldn’t have been so eager to risk his ire.

But I was, and so I waited for the next the telltale pain in my scar. It did not happen for some time.

I can only assume that the discovery of our bond had urged him to practice occlumency. I’m not sure if he learned it absurdly fast then, if he had already known some, or if he was somehow a natural and all it took for him was a little effort. Whichever was the case, it made it less painful to be around him and Defense Against the Dark Arts became much easier to focus in.

I should have killed him then. I knew he was on the verge of making a second horcrux and that my window of opportunity would close at any time.

Instead, I threw myself once again with increased desperation at my soul books, looking for any morsel of information I may have missed, but of course there was nothing. I had spent the last couple years obsessing over this problem and a few more weeks did nothing to solve it. It was looking more and more like there was no way to remove the horcrux without my death.

I’d come to the conclusion that the original removal of the horcrux from Harry Potter in the seventh book was from a circumstance I could not possibly hope to replicate, especially now that Tom Riddle knew. Harry Potter’s horcrux has been attacked by its own creator, while he was simultaneously tied to life via that same creator having taken his own blood. I couldn’t see that happening for me.

It wasn’t long before Tom Riddle created his first horcrux.

His occlumency was good—scarily good. I did not feel any pain in my scar when he set up the ritual or when he murdered his victim, just before midnight.

It was only when his soul actually split that my scar was hit with a wave of agony so sudden and deep that I couldn’t help but be pulled into his head.

Thick magic and the stench of blood saturated the air. Tom collapsed as his entire being was filled with pain—so much pain. Every nerve was alight with the feeling of liquid magic coursing through him, splitting him on the deepest level.

His studies had warned him of this pain, similar to Crucio, but on your very being instead of just on your body. He had thought himself ready. He could endure bouts of Crucio, but this…

He realized distantly, that he was screaming. It was a loud, crazed sound.

The pain continued.

After ages, it abated enough for him to come back to an awareness of his body that extended beyond agony, He was spasming uncontrollably atop something warm and wet. After a moment, he realized it must have been the man he killed.

The bright light of his ritual circle shone through his closed eyelids and he tried to get his breathing under control.

Then he noticed his occlumency had failed.

I extracted myself as smoothly as I could. I lay panting in my dorm bed. I stared at the blue curtains of my four post bed for a minute while I processed what had just happened. I had felt every bit of pain that he had.

Once I could think again, I leapt out of bed faster than I ever had before. I barely paused to slide on my shoes and cloak on before bolting out of my room. I cast an invisibility spell as I ran down the stairs to the common room.

It was only as I stood in front of the castle in the cold, night air that I realized I had no idea where Tom had performed his ritual. For the entirety of the time his occlumency had slipped, his eyes had been closed.

I peered towards the Forbidden Forest, but of course saw nothing amis. Even if Riddle had performed his ritual there, he’d be deep enough in that there would be nothing visible from the castle. Finding him in there with the wards he surely had, would be near impossible at best, and dangerous at worst, like if he had recovered enough to ambush me as I walked around.

I went back inside and instead headed for the Chamber of Secrets. I descended as cautiously as I ever had with my wand held at the ready. The room was empty of everything but the basilisk skeleton and my Hominem Revelio showed nothing.

I turned to go check the Room of Requirement—the only other place I could think Riddle would have chosen—when I suddenly stopped. I now needed a way to destroy horcruxes. I didn’t know how to cast fiendfyre, and controlling it was hard enough that few wizards in history had ever succeeded.

Using my cloak, I carefully harvested three fangs.

By the time I got to the Room of Requirements, it was empty and I was able to command the room to turn into whatever I wanted. I entered the Room of Hidden Things and buried one of the basilisk fangs deep in a pile of rubble, underneath a pile of ancient spellbooks.

I gave up on finding Riddle that night and fell asleep depressed.

I had waited too long to act, and now, it would be much harder to kill Tom Riddle. He was cautious of me already and would surely hide his horcrux well. There was a chance I’d be able to find it, but I was not optimistic.

A selfish part of me was relieved, though. With another horcrux, there would be no purpose to sacrificing myself to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been bad about replying to comments, but I really love them. They always cheer me up. <3


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